


a gift confers no rights

by areyoumarriedriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:57:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been River he’d turned to though, River he’d stared at with an icy demeanour, River who he lashed out at as he pressed her for details he knew she wouldn’t provide, poked her in places he knew she didn’t like to be poked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a gift confers no rights

**_a gift confers no rights_ **

“My life in your hands, Amelia Pond.” The air around them seemed to ease, loosen and expand as he turned away from her. He caught sight of River in the corner of his eye and almost stumbled. It was a flicker – half a second but that half-second was all he needed to have it stamped on his eidetic memory. Her hands had been fisted over her thighs, knuckles white with strain and her eyes had been closed as she listened to Amy convince him to do this – 1969, and this mysterious summons. The fact that her eyes had been closed would have been enough but he could see the sharp lines in her face – recognized that expression. Pain.

His own hearts clenched tightly at the thought as he moved past her to the monitor. Pain etched across her face in sharp relief. It was an expression he’d seen once before on River Song’s face. Just once, just a flash – a shadow of what he had just observed. A long time ago, when she’d held a hand against a different face and asked if he knew who she was. But this – this was far starker than that had been, and he felt his stomach twist in response to it even as he heard her thank Amy softly.  _Thank_ her.

All three of them believed this was something he had to do. All three of them were lying to him – or if not lying, at the very least not telling him everything. He knew they  _knew_. Rory, bless him, couldn’t tell a lie to save his life and the weight and breadth of that lie had flashed across his face earlier, plain as day.

It had been River he’d turned to though, River he’d stared at with an icy demeanour, River who he lashed out at as he pressed her for details he knew she wouldn’t provide, poked her in places he knew she didn’t like to be poked.  _Who did you kill?_  Her face had been impressive. Stony and determined as she met his gaze and took it all, without saying a single word in retaliation. But then he’d turned away, and he wondered – just what had Amy and Rory seen on her face then? Because if it was a tenth of what he had just caught out of the corner of his eye-

This wasn’t who he was. Wasn’t what he did, wasn’t the man he wanted to be. Someone who would hurt someone else deliberately because he could. But oh he  _had_. And he  _did._  And he could see that pain every time he blinked. He walked and talked quickly, trying to escape it. She joined him by the monitor, her face a mask of calm once again but he watched her instead of the screen as they tried to figure out just who this Canton fellow was, and he could see it now. All of it. The tense muscles around her eyes, the set in her shoulders. She stood, calm in almost every aspect of her face and body, but he could see it now. See the cracks.

He wished he could  _unsee_ it. Because the harder he looked at her, the more he realized she was like some beautiful ancient artefact. The closer he looked, the more he saw the history of her. And the more he saw the history of her, the more his hearts ached.

She was strong enough to survive ages, but would crumble to dust in his hands if handled improperly.

And he was no archaeologist.

~*~*~*~*~

Sitting in a chair, in a straight jacket with his invisible ship at his back gave him plenty of time.

Time to plan.

Time to calculate.

Time to remember.

He thought of her more often than he probably should have. He was worried about all of them, of course. Amy and Rory. But Amy and Rory were sticking together – that he knew. Rory had stood guard over Amy for two thousand years – he wasn’t about to stop now.

And someone would have to go check outlying areas. And he knew that that task had fallen to River, on her own. For some reason the thought of that – the thought of River, on her own, sat in his mind, surrounded by disquiet.

It was ridiculous, he knew – she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Frankly he didn’t think there was anything she couldn’t handle. Rory had told him one night, in a quiet moment under the console, working on the TARDIS wiring while Amy had been off in the pool, told him about how she had looked at the museum in the universe that had never happened. The stone dalek and how she had sent them ahead.  _It died_.  He knew – knew she could take care of herself, and probably him and Amy and Rory, all at once. She was incredibly strong.

But she could be strong and still be lonely.

Three months he’d had to ponder this plan, three months to wonder if Amy and Rory were alright, if they were doing everything they’d been told. Not that he’d told any of them much as Canton had arrested him.  _Lay low_.  _See what’s out there_. He’d no idea what they were doing, but Canton was reporting to him via interrogations. Every now and again he would come by, with information on their last sighting, and demand to know the Doctor’s plan. And always it was a report of Amy and Rory together. And River alone.

Everything had happened so quickly after he’d agreed to go to 1969. They were in the White House, they were in the warehouse, River and Rory had disappeared underground, there had been... something he couldn’t quite ever remember but he remembered running. He remembered that much – and Rory pulling Amy along and River ahead of him, her hair – and she was running. And then he was here. There had been no time in between, no time to breathe or think or ponder or apologize. Because he’d hurt her, he knew. He had hurt her. And though she’d smiled at him in the oval office, though she’d kept up with him in the warehouse, flirted back when he teased her, there had been a shadow of something in her eyes that continued to press against his hearts.

When Canton threw photos of Amy’s lifeless hands on the floor he’d known it was almost time. When Canton had reported the death of Doctor Song, he could hear the waver in the man’s voice as he spoke of River running right off the fiftieth floor. He’d almost broken character at that – almost smiled because of  _course_  River wouldn’t submit, not even when that was the plan.

But he’d remained emotionless, and watched the walls go up around them and willed them to go faster, higher, quicker. For even though he knew – time was on his side – there was that small thought in the back of his mind that she was plunging through space and he needed to be there in time.

~*~*~*~*~

She was quiet during the trip to the Apollo airfield and she was quieter still as they toppled back into the TARDIS.

“What now?” Canton had asked and he’d sent the ship into the Vortex, spinning madly out of time before turning to the man who wore a baffled expression, waiting for the explanation.

“Well right now, I need to get rid of this-” he scratched nervously at his cheek, the hair there feeling unfamiliar and strange. “And  _you_ Canton, old chap, get to wander the ship. The Ponds can show you around. Mind you all don’t touch anything though – or get into trouble. Though the old girl wouldn’t allow it anyway,” He mused, patting the console in appreciation as she hummed in agreement.

“Wouldn’t let me – are you saying this ship is, what –  _alive_?” Canton frowned and Amy and Rory laughed gently, looking at each other in amusement.

He opened his mouth to respond, but River beat him to it. “TARDISes aren’t built – they’re grown. Though I suppose it is theoretically possible to build one if you had enough parts...” She mused aloud before looking back to Canton. “But yes, she’s alive.”

“Like you or I?” Canton looked alarmed at that and River laughed, reaching out and patting the bewildered man on the back soothingly.

“Oh no. Quite a bit better than you or I, I’d say. She won’t let you get into any trouble.”

“And where are  _you_  going?” Canton asked as she walked up the stairs to where he stood by the console.

“Nowhere. I’ll stay here and monitor the flight.” She pulled the monitor over to her and glanced over at him. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now Doctor? That thing won’t shave itself.” Her mouth twisted at the words and he shifted from foot to foot in front of her.

“What, you don’t like it? I thought it made me look ruggedly handsome.” He met her gaze and she looked him over, her gaze calm.

“You look like a hobo.” She pronounced finally. “ _Please_  go shave. A haircut wouldn’t go awry either.” He huffed at her jibes, crossing his arms and moving in closer to her as Canton mounted the stairs, his hands in his pockets as he casually leaned against the railing.

“I was actually hoping you’d – I wanted to speak to you.” His gaze moved over her shoulder to Canton, still leaning there with a tiny smug smile and over to Amy who was elbowing Rory and making ridiculous faces at him. “Alone.” He met River’s gaze evenly and she looked at him, her face blank. After a moment she nodded.

“That’s fine. She’s on auto-pilot anyway.” She addressed the other three with a nod, before she left the console room ahead of him and he shot a glare at Amy and her ridiculous winking before hurrying after River.

She didn’t look behind her, or even ask him where to go, just walked straight to his room like she knew the path by heart, and he walked behind her silently, his stomach twisting nervously. He hated this part – these conversations,  _apologies_. She opened his door and stepped through, leaving him to close it behind them and when he looked up she was standing, her arms crossed over her chest protectively as she looked around the room with a sad expression. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just leaned against the solid wood door behind him and watched her study the space she was in. “Well?” She finally looked at him, before her gaze skittered away abruptly.

“I owe you an apology.” He spoke softly and she looked up at him quickly, shaking her head.

“Oh is that all? No, you don’t.” She started to walk as if to go around him and he stepped forward, intercepting her and grasping her by the shoulders until she was forced to stand still in front of him.

“ _Yes_ , I do. River – I said those things to you after meeting you all in Utah. I said – I shouldn’t have-”

“You said what you thought, Doctor. You have no reason to trust me.” She was looking down as she spoke, and he could see her biting her lip, as she gripped her own elbows even more tightly.

“That’s not true.” She looked up at that and he could see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, turning them greener than he’d ever seen them before. Or had ever  _noticed_  before. “You have given me reason to trust you River; you’ve saved me countless numbers of times. The pandorica and the-”

“Shhh!” She let go of her self-comforting embrace to press a finger to her lips in a shushing motion as she glared at him. “Spoilers.”

“None – none of that has happened for you yet? The Byzantium or the pandorica?” She licked her lips, her teeth scraping across her bottom lip and biting down and shaking her head.

“No. See  _this_  is what happens when we don’t synch diaries.”

“I don’t have a diary. Am I supposed to have a diary?” He frowned as he spoke and he looked up in time to see another brief flash of pain across her too-green eyes. She was good – so  _very_  good at concealing it, but she wasn’t fast enough and he wondered to himself how many signs had he missed before? Or would she just be better at hiding it by the time she got to the pandorica? Or the Byzantium?

“We don’t meet in the right order, what do you think Doctor?” She shrugged his hands off and stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself once more. There was a vulnerability in her posture that he’d never associated with her, but then he realized – this was the first time they’d ever truly been alone. Aside from that moment of tension and frantic haste to save Amy on the Byzantium – they’d never been  _alone._  Well, that and that horrible moment of aloneness as he woke up to watch her-

“I suppose I should... get a diary? So nothing I’ve done so far has happened for  _you_?” His breath caught at the implications of that thought, and she nodded stiffly.

“Yes. So you’ve apologised and I forgive you, and can I go now? Because I don’t want to-” She stopped speaking abruptly, turning her back to him. Her shoulders were stiff with tension and he could see her fingertips, cupping her elbows and pressing into the skin there so hard that she was leaving marks. “Unless you need help. You’re rubbish at cutting your own hair.” She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. He latched on to the excuse regardless, to keep her here with him.

“I’d appreciate it.”  She sighed and moved across the room, still avoiding his gaze as she opened the door to the toilet. By the time he shrugged off his tweed and followed her she was standing in front of the mirror, pulling various things out of drawers, combs and scissors and a towel. A chair that hadn’t been there when he’d showered earlier sat in front of the vanity, facing the mirror. He sat down awkwardly and she dropped the towel over his shoulders.

She filled the sink with water, removing her vortex manipulator before she wet her hands, stepping closer and running her fingers through his hair, to re-dampen it. Her nails slid along his scalp and he tilted his head back, barely repressing the groan that rose to the back of his throat. “Stop it.” She spoke softly, tilting his head forward again and re-wetting her hands. He peered up at her and saw she was wearing an indulgent smile. “I can hardly cut your hair if you’re tilting your head this way and that.”

“You’re  _not_  cutting it at the moment, and I can’t help it if that feels-” He stopped himself abruptly and she grinned down at him, running her nails along his scalp once again, and sending shivers down his spine. She grabbed the comb and scissors – and started combing his hair into its natural part. It seemed... familiar. There was a practised ease to her movements. “Do you do this often?”

“Given the ridiculous state of your hair this go round, are you surprised? Who did it before this? Amy?” There is an edge that is barely detectable under her words, but she was standing very close to him and he had seen those cracks in her facade now, and it’s all he can see looking at her anymore. She nudged his leg with her knee until he opened his legs so she could step in even closer. She combed his hair into sections and began cutting methodically.

“No.” His voice sounded rough and high-pitched so he cleared his throat and attempted to look somewhere else, other than the view right in front of him. She had a rather lovely shape, really. Her dress hung loosely around her, but it did nothing at all to disguise the gentle curve and swell of her figure. He tried to look at the floor, but she sighed, tilting his head back up with a patient glare. “No, I usually go to a barber. You know, stop off while the Ponds are sleeping. Pop in, get a haircut. Pop back out. Always go to a wonderful Silurian chap, in the 48th century. He’d probably be very cross that I’m letting you do it.”

“Really?” She sounded genuinely surprised by the information and he grinned. He decided he quite liked telling her things she didn’t know. She stood on her tip toes, leaning in closer as she started cutting the hair along the crown of his head. Every breath he took, he could smell her – some mixture of honey and vanilla and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on – but it was intoxicating. He swallowed heavily, studying the zipper on the front of her frock intently. The zipper. Of course. He wasn’t looking even slightly above that where her dress was dipping away from her body, and he could see just barest hint of shadowed-

“I shouldn’t have said those things.” He interrupted his own thoughts, speaking softly – glad she couldn’t see his face at the moment. “Shouldn’t have pressed you – but I was angry. You’re all keeping secrets, and I’m used to it from you, River. But Amy and Rory...”

“It’s worse when it’s someone you trust. I know that. I  _understand_  that.” She sighs, and drops her arms; pulling back to see him and the expression on her face nearly crushes him. Because these aren’t just words, she isn’t placating him; he can see that she does. Really and truly  _understand_. “It’s okay that you don’t trust me, Doctor.”

“You just leapt off a fifty story building with nothing but blind faith that I would catch you.” He whispered the words and she stepped in closer to him with a heart-breaking smile on her face.

“It’s not blind faith Doctor. It’s precedence. You’ve never not caught me before. You’ll always catch me.” Her voice was low and he found himself nodding dumbly in agreement. “But just because I trust you doesn’t automatically imply that you must trust me.  My placing trust in you doesn’t automatically give me rights to your trust in return.” He looked up at her – studying the trace of sadness in her eyes, in the tension by the corner of her mouth and he felt his hearts squeeze and tangle together for a moment.

“But I hurt you. I saw that. I see it right now, River Song.” Tears welled and she shook her head, laughing dryly under her breath. She swallowed and moved behind him, starting to comb the hair there and cut it, but he could see her face in the reflection in front of them.

“You see too much.” Her hands shook, it was slight and barely noticeable but he saw. He noticed.

“Sometimes I don’t see enough.” He spoke softly and his hands pressed flat to his legs, because he felt an over whelming urge to touch her somehow, and he wasn’t quite sure if he should, or if she would even allow it. He was always so hesitant to explore any physical boundaries in their odd relationship; for fear that he would encounter none at all.  She sighed softly, her eyes on the back of his head as she moved around him, her chest brushing against the back of his shoulders as she frowned in thought. She paused for a moment, resting her hands against his shoulders as she met his gaze in the mirror.

“You’ll see everything someday, Doctor. And maybe you’ll wish you hadn’t – maybe you won’t like what you see at all, I don’t know because everything can change. But know this – you can never hurt me so much that it will ever change how I see you. You understand?” Her hand was cool, her fingers stretched out and brushing the back of his neck as she combed through the hair there absent-mindedly. He watched her in awe.  What on earth did he do to earn such forgiveness from the woman before him? “Maybe you should be asking what I will do to you to grant it so easily.” She responded and he realized he had spoken aloud.

“Is it me? The good man, is it me?” The question slipped out before he could even stop it and she smiled that same heart breaking sad smile, her hands tightening in his hair for just a moment. She released a breath evenly, moving behind him again and taking up the scissors.

“Can’t be told.”

“Has to be lived.” He finished for her and she nodded, and continued to cut his hair silently. He fidgeted in his seat, and allowed them both a few quiet moments where the only thing that broke the silence was the metallic snip of her scissors. She was standing at his shoulder, trimming the hair there when he broke the silence again. “I don’t think it is. Me, that is.”

“You don’t?” Her voice wavered at that and he looked up, meeting her gaze in the mirror as he shook his head.

“I’m not a good man, River.” He confessed it like a secret and she didn’t respond, her eyes on his hair as she continued clipping steadily. “I’ve done things-” She put her scissors down on the counter, combing his hair before she stood in front of him, her hands on his cheeks, tilting his gaze up to meet hers.

“Shh, sweetie. I know. But you had your reasons. You have your own rules. We’ve all done things Doctor, things we aren’t proud of. But you move on. You be better. You improve.” Her fingers stroked the sides of his face, gentle and comforting, but her gaze was unfocussed, almost as if she wasn’t even aware of what her hands were doing. “You try. It’s all anyone can do, honey. Just try.”

“River-” His voice felt like sandpaper, rough and dragging slowly. His hands reached up and gripped hers tightly and he felt his hearts pounding as he looked up at her. “Thank you.” It was a blanket statement he knew. But he also knew that she, only she, would be able to understand the nuances wrapped within it. He was thankful she forgave him, thankful she was here at all, thankful that she trusted him so implicitly.

 She slid her hands from beneath his; pushing his arms down as she tilted his face this way and that, studying it. “You should trim the beard with the scissors first – otherwise you’ll have a hell of a time shaving.” She spoke, ignoring his previous statement, something he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed with or thankful for. She was right, as usual, but a thought crossed his mind and he gave voice to it almost immediately.

“Would you do it?” She looked down at him in surprise and he nodded, it was a  _brilliant_  idea. He still felt like he needed to provide her with some demonstration of trust. Because he hadn’t been lying earlier – he did trust her. He’d watched her die to save four thousand strangers, to save him. He’d read words in his language that  _she’d_  written, watched her fly his ship. And the TARDIS – the TARDIS wasn’t just  _any_  ship, she knew people. Saw inside them; saw their past and future and every moment in between and he knew in his hearts, the TARDIS loved River.  He’d trusted her long before he should have, long before anyone had given him any reasons  _not_  to. What he’d said to her months ago had come from a place of frustration and anger.

“What? Shave you?” Her fingertips were resting just under his jaw and he could feel the press of her nails against his skin as he nodded. “If you’re sure.” She sounded uncertain and he smiled up at her.

“I’m sure.” He watched her turn back to the sink, pulling open more drawers and pulling out shaving soap, his razor and a brush. She seemed to know exactly where everything was located in his bigger on the inside drawers. She picked up the scissors, stepping between his legs again and tilting his chin up slightly.

“I know what you’re doing you know.” She spoke conversationally as she clipped the longer hair away from his face and he lifted his brows, affecting what he hoped was an innocent expression.

“Oh?” He mumbled and her fingers brushed across his lips as she trimmed the area on his upper lip, brushing hair away with her fingers.

She smoothed her hands against his cheeks, before she dropped the scissors on the counter and reached for another towel. She soaked it in the hot water from the sink, wringing it out and wiping his face down with it gently. She looked at him as she picked up the shaving soap and brush, brushing it on to his face with precise movements. “You’re trying to prove you trust me by letting me near your throat with a sharp blade.” She pointed out conversationally, and he brought his hands up in front of him, resting them on her hips. She jumped slightly at the contact, looking down at him.

“I do trust you.” He spoke seriously and she stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head. She turned, picking up the razor and dipping it in the water before turning back to him.

“You trust me with certain things, Doctor. I think you trust me not to hurt you, you trust me to have your back, and fly your ship – but there are some things that will take longer than that. And that’s fine.” She pressed the razor to his face as she spoke, tilting his face this way and that as she cleaned the hair and soap from his face with a steady hand, and turning to rinse the razor after every stroke. He kept his hands on her hips, reluctant to stop touching her at all.

“What else could I trust you with?” He knew the answer even as he asked the question and she glanced down at him with a wry smile. She didn’t answer him, simply carried on with her repetitive motions and he simply sat there, and let himself enjoy it. There was something about physical closeness that bred a sense of intimacy. He could feel it in the air around them, the brush of her fingers against his skin, the scent of her leaning in close. The press of her thighs against his where she stood between his legs. He felt the hum of his ship beneath his feet and he felt his mind go quiet as he focussed on the tactile sensations at hand.

Her dress was silky beneath his hands, the curve of her hip soft and a perfect fit for his palms. He could feel her breath against his face. He watched her carefully, the way she bit her tongue in concentration, the fall of her now dry and completely unmanageable curls against her cheek. His eyes mapped the rise and arch of her brow, the slope of her nose, the fullness of her cheekbones. Her mouth was full and generous, and her face shape was intriguing. He hadn’t spent a whole lot of time contemplating her quite this closely. Now that he was, he found her not only attractive as an assembled whole, but rather more beautiful the more he looked. Her eyes were a mixture of colours, blues and greys and greens he found rather appropriate. They were like water, always changing every time you looked. She bit her lip and hummed, putting the razor down and wiping his face slowly with the towel she had wet earlier.

“There you are.” She smiled down at him, her hands on his face and he was actually startled to realize she was finished. She took the towel from his shoulders, shaking it out and he stood next to her, peering in the mirror as she pulled a broom out of seemingly nowhere and began to tidy up. She had done a remarkably good job – maybe even better than his barber, she’d left his hair a touch longer, and it seemed to behave better because of it, smoothing down instead of being ridiculously fluffy like usual. “Does it look alright?”

He turned back to her with a grin. “I may have to fire my barber. I don’t suppose you’re in need of a second career? Archaeology is rather _dull_  don’t you agree?”

She laughed softly, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair down behind his ear. “I find it hilarious that you mock my career choice so much.” She pointed out. “Given that my fascination with ancient things started with you, sweetie.”

“Oh, blaming  _me?_  That is low, Doctor Song, even for you.” He teased her and she smiled secretively, before moving to go past him. He reached out, snagging her hand in both of his and pulling her back, his expression more serious. “How long?”

“How long for what?” she frowned up at him in confusion.

“How long until I trust you with everything? Not long, right? You said last time-” He paused at her look and shook his head. “Spoilers. I know – sorry.” She shook her head, tugging him back into the bedroom. She let go of his hand and he walked over to his bed, picking up his coat and pulling it on, smoothing the tweed over his chest and grinning at her. He snapped his fingers and walked over to a trunk in the corner, opening it and pulling out various items willy-nilly.

“What  _are_  you doing?” She spoke from beside him and he glanced up to see her with a hand on her hip as she strapped her manipulator back on her wrist. She must have gone back into the washroom for it.

“Looking for a gun.” She snorted at that and then stared down at him.

“Are you  _serious_?” He nodded, finally spying the item he was looking for, under what looked like a leather belt. He pulled them both out and she grabbed the belt from his hands. “Oh I have been looking for this  _forever_. It was my favourite!” She wrapped it around her waist, cinching the dress in neatly as he stared at her open mouthed.

“How could that  _possibly_  be in here with-”

“She exists in  _all_  of time and space, my love. You know that.” She shrugged and he shoved everything back in the trunk, standing with the injector gun he’d been looking for in his hand.

“But why would  _your_  clothes be in  _my_  room?” She stared at him expectantly for a moment, and he looked down at her, his eyes widening. “ _Oh_!” She nodded with a smile and he felt a flush creep across his neck and face. He stuffed the gun into his pocket and adjusted his coat lapels nervously.

“Oh look at you, you’re so adorable young. Blushing.” She laughed and reached up, patting his cheek gently. “Bless.”

He swatted her hands away, turning to glare at her. “I’m  _not_  young! I am hundreds of years older than you, young lady and I’ll thank you to recognize that fact.” He pointed at her as he spoke and she actually had to look away, covering her mouth with her hands as she laughed. She  _laughed_. She was  _laughing_  at him. “What is so funny?!”

“I can’t tell you that.” She pointed out with a smothered grin. “But trust me, you’ll find this all very amusing one day.” He highly doubted the veracity of that statement, and his disbelief showed in his glare.

“I doubt that, River. Tell me do I ever mock you like this when I know more and you know less?” She laughed and stepped in closer to him.

“Of course you did. Drove me mad. Where do you think I learned it from?” He smiled down at her and she nodded, moving over to the door. He moved after her quickly, catching her before she opened it.

“River,” His voice was rushed and she turned to him with an expression of curiosity. “I meant it, earlier. Thank you. There are things you’ve done –  _will_  do that – I  _do_  trust you, River. To have at my side – to fight next to me.” She looked up at him, her expression softening and he reached down, pulling her in for a hug. Hugs were good – hugs were something he was good at, well – far more practised at than apologies at any rate. He pulled her into his chest, his arms around her and his face being tickled by the errant curls in her hair. After a moment she wrapped her arms around his waist, tuning her head and pressing her face into his neck as she gripped him tightly.

He lingered, even though he knew he shouldn’t – his hands smoothing along her back even as he inhaled deeply, that same scent of honey and vanilla and  _her_  filling his lungs. He felt the same calm come over him that he’d felt in the washroom, while she’d shaved his face.  He pulled her a bit closer and held her a bit tighter and she sighed, her breath brushing against his neck. Neither of them moved until they both heard a noise outside of his door.

“Doctor!” Amy, of course and River stepped out of the circle of his arms with an exasperated expression and a roll of her eyes.

“Come on then, Doctor. We’ve got monsters to fight.” She reached up and straightened his bowtie and he grinned down at her, opening the door for her with a flourish. They started down the hall and he looked at her from the corner of his eye.

“Just how  _did_  you know exactly where my room was River?” He asked in a mild tone and she grinned over at him, an arched brow and a mischievous expression on her face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She teased him. “I’ll give you this though Doctor, a small spoiler – you greatly enjoyed showing me where it was.” She winked and laughed and he watched her walk ahead of him, a tell-tale flush creep up the back of his neck. Not to be out done, he hurried after her.

“I look forward to it.” He spoke without thinking and she chuckled before looking over at him flirtatiously.

“Yes. I know.”


End file.
